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As a child, I remember watching the Princess Bride with my father, and being in awe of the dashing and witty Westley. But as a young woman, I find myself rewatching the film and wondering how Buttercup could be so sure of her faith in her farm boy. What if in another world, Westley hadn’t made it in time?

She remains seated there, on the edge of her windowsill in nothing but a silken night robe, wondering if he too is awake. The cold stone of the sill feels rough as it scratches against her bare calves. The last gibbous…


Logging all the reroutes from now so I have a map to help orient me by the time of the mid-life crisis.

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